Payback
by QueensJenn
Summary: Seriously injured in a raid, Graverobber faces some tough choices.
1. Chapter 1

Alternatively titled: "With a Little Help From My Friends." -or- "A Leg Up."

**Author: **Semenkhare  
**Fandom**: Repo! The Genetic Opera  
**Summary:** Seriously injured in a raid gone wrong, Graverobber faces some tough choices.  
**Author's Notes**: I'm not sure if this is a horror or a comedy, but whatever it is, it's really fucking weird. Terrance Zdunich, if you are reading this, I am SO sorry.  
This story is dedicated to lemonee_wonder, who encouraged me to write it, and put up with me speculating about the weirder aspects of it.  
**Disclaimer:** I do not own Repo! The Genetic Opera. No profit is being made from this.

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The night began, as most do. Humming a little ditty to himself (the lyrics of which were too filthy, even for him), Graverobber settled in for a good few hours of Zydrate harvesting before having to go and administer to the junkies in the alley. He'd discovered the crypt the night before, and had been delighted to find that most of the bodies contained inside were at prime point in the Zydrate-producing cycle: not too ripe, but not dried out either. If he could get in a few solid hours tonight, before some other robber discovered the place, then he'd likely have enough Zydrate to keep him in business for months.

But as he hefted the lid off the first grave, he discovered just why this particular graveyard had gone untouched for so long. A shrill alarm rang out over the silent yard and he knew he was, in a word, boned. No pun intended.

Gathering up his stash and tools, he made a mad dash in the direction of the exit. From behind him he could hear the heavy boots of the GENEcops as they stomped through the graveyard, looking for him. He wasn't afraid, per se; after all, he was known to bring the GENEcops down on him deliberately when he thought things were a little slow. But that was different. If it was one of those nights, then he'd have an escape route and a hiding place all planned out, and he'd be back at the hideout or failing that, the Dumpster _du jour _by morning. He'd be in control of the situation And if there was anything Graverobber hated and feared, it was not being in control. It had only happened once before in his adult life; that had been...that was when... 

_No. _Now was not the time to let old memories surface. Now was the time to survive. He ducked behind a crumbling gravestone as one of the 'cops came a little close for comfort, then continued on his way. The hole he'd slithered through to get in was beside the main gate; a chasm created when the huge stone wall's foundations had started to give way. For a man of Graverobber's size, it was a tight fit, and he'd had to push hard to get himself through. That had been under good conditions. Now, with 'cops chasing him, would he be able to get through? There was nothing for it: he'd just have to. He'd be damned if he'd let Amber Sweet hang his head on her wall. Metaphorically speaking, of course.

Thirty feet, twenty feet, fifteen, ten... The hole was getting closer. Sheer adrenalin surged through him and he barrelled into the pit, choking on a mouthful of dirt. The wallls closed claustrophobically around him, but he forced himself to focus. Just focus. Just get out of there. Don't panic.

He was never so glad to see the everpresent light of the GENEco billboards than he was as he came up, scrabbling for purchase against the rough cobblestone street. He hoisted his lower body out of the hole as the main gait beside him opened. Without waiting to see what emerged, he took off running. Just as he thought he might pull off another dashing escape, he heard something go whizzing past his ear. A second later, a white-hot bolt of agony lodged itself in his right leg

Gasping and cursing, Graverobber forced himself to continue. Bloodloss and shock was a risk, but to stop would be to get caught by GENEcops, which would mean an almost certain, definitely unpleasant death . If he could just hold on long enough to get to the hideout...just a little farther..


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Notes: Thanks for the reviews! Just as a warning, it gets nasty in this chapter. Really nasty.

"You really think he's coming back?" Shilo asked, watching the tall dark-haired woman who'd been standing at the window, gazing toward the sea.

"Yes," replied Heron, never breaking her vigil. "He told me he would come back. He will."

Shilo shook her head sadly. Heron had told her once about her husband, a sailor who had sailed from Crucifixus ten years before in search of a better life. Though it was clear to everyone that he must have perished somewhere out there, Heron refused to give up hope, and now spent her evenings watching the horizon, watching, waiting for his ship to return.

"He's not coming back," Leslie said from where he was seated on the couch with his boyfriend. "I keep telling you that, but you won't listen."

"That's because you're wrong," Heron said good-naturedly, but all the same, she came away from the window.

Shilo smiled but said nothing. As much as she liked her new friends, the fate of Heron's husband was enough of a sore point with the older woman that she didn't yet feel comfortable offering an opinion. Hell, it had taken her weeks just to feel comfortable in the same room as her.

Heron had once been a GENEco doctor.

Though not a Repoman ("Never a Repoman," she'd said, shuddering), Heron had been responsible for a lot of the organ transplants that had landed the tranplantees on the end of the Repoman's scalpel. Shilo just couldn't shake the feeling of unease that she got around the former surgeon.

Still, she was grateful to her, and to Leslie and Louis, and the others in the small band of refugees and outlaws who'd welcomed her with open arms after the tragedy at the Opera, only three months before. Lost and alone, she'd sought out the only person in the outside world who'd never tried to hurt her: Graverobber. He, in turn, had introduced her to his companions: people who, like him, protested the inhuman laws that ruled the city.

If she was meant to change the world, Shilo knew it would be with these people.

"Anyone seen Graves tonight?" Leslie asked, standing up. "He's gonna miss dinner if he doesn't show up soon."

"He said he was harvesting some new place tonight," Heron said. "He mentioned it to me last night."

Shilo felt a flash of irritation at the older woman, but she couldn't explain why. So what if Graverobber told Heron things that he didn't tell anyone else? The less people who knew where he was, the better, right? Besides, Heron was married (_widowed) MARRIED, _so it's not like they could have anything going on between them. Right? And even if they did, why would she care? Just because Graverobber was her closest friend (by default), it didn't mean she owned him, right? Right.

"Well, whatever. He knows what he's doing," Leslie shrugged. "Hey, Shilo, take these down to the Dumpster for me, will you?" He held up a bag of vegetable cuttings, remnants from last night's supper.

"Sure," she said, accepting the bag. She made her way to the outside door and across the alley to the Dumpster, being careful to look out for GENEcops. Ever since the Opera, Amber Sweet was doing everything in her power to make sure Shilo was killed.

She lifted the lid and threw in the bag. A sudden sound made her pause. She ducked into the shadows and watched, waiting to see who would appear.

When no one came after five minutes, Shilo figured it was safe to come out. Whoever it was had probably moved on by now. She opened the door to the staircase that led up to the hideout -

- and had to bite back a scream. A dark figure was slumped halfway up the stairs, and even in the dim light she could see the long blonde hair streaked with colour. Liquid trickled down the steps toward her.

Blood.

"Oh fuck," she swore, willing herself not to panic. "Graves...can you hear me?"

There was no response. She swore again. "Just...just stay here, okay?" She clambered past him and booked it up the rest of the stairs.

"Heron!" she yelled. "Heron, come quick, you have to come here!"

"Why? What's going on?" the doctor asked, even as she allowed Shilo to grab her hand and pull er toward the door.

"It's Graverobber, he's hurt really bad," Shilo explained, and Heron swore. She motioned to Louis and Leslie, who got up and followed her.

She swore again as they reached Graverobber's inert form. Without needing to be told, Louis and Leslie gathered him up between them and carried him up the rest of the stairs, laying him on the couch.

Fortunately, the building they were using as a hideout somehow still had electricity and running water. Heron turned on every light in the place and ordered Shilo to retrieve towels and a bucket of water, as much as she could carry.

Shilo didn't want to leave Graverobber, but she knew better than to disobey Heron, especially at a time like this. She took off through the darkened hallways, searching for anything that might be useful.

By the time she got back with the requested items, Heron had assessed the damage, and her face was very grim.

"How bad is it?" Shilo asked, dreading the answer.

"It's bad," Heron confirmed.

"How bad?"

"Shilo, I don't think -"

"_How bad?_" she demanded, fighting the urge to yell.

Heron swallowed. "Unless I can stop the bleeding within the next few minutes, he's going to lose his leg."


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Repo! The Genetic Opera. No profit is being made from this.

"What?" asked Shilo.

"Heron, you can't be serious," Leslie agreed.

"Look!" said the surgeon, indicating the leg in question. "Look at the tourniquet he tied. It's perfect – it saved his life. But he's had it on too long. Look at his toes – they're fucking blue. It's too late."

"You know he'll never consent to that," Leslie said.

By now, Graverobber was starting to come to. "What?" he asked blearily. "Consent to what?"

Heron paused, and for one terrible second Shilo thought that she wasn't going to tell him about his leg; just dope him up on Zydrate and amputate. But the moment passed and the surgeon leaned close.

"What do you remember?"

He groaned. "Not much. GENEcops. The graveyard. It was a trap."

"You got shot," she finished.

"Yeah," he said, his eyes closing. "I'll be okay. S'not the first time."

"Open your eyes," Heron said. "You are not okay. Your leg is dying and it's going to kill you unless I do something right now."

That got his attention and he opened his eyes again. "Do what?" he asked.

"Graves..." she faltered. "I need to amputate. I'm sorry."

"No," he said. "Heron, no."

"Yeah."

"No! I'd rather die."

"Don't you fucking talk like that," Heron snapped. "You know you're too important to die. Please, Graves," she implored. "Think of Shilo. You can't die and leave her all alone."

That got his attention. The mortally-injured graverobber shifted his gaze from the surgeon over to the girl who stood still in the corner near the door, frozen there with horror. He swallowed. Closed his eyes. Swallowed again.

"All right," he whispered at last.

_No! _Shilo wanted to scream. _There has to be another way! This cannot be happening!_

"Good choice," Heron said, her whole demeanour changing at once. Now she was all business, the consummate surgeon. "Where's your gun, then, and I'll put you out."

"No," he said. "No Zydrate."

"You cannot be serious," the surgeon said, dumbfounded. "Are you insane?"

"Maybe," he said. "But I've never taken a hit, and I'm not starting now."

Heron hesitated, obviously debating the ethics of operating on a conscious patient. But one look at her leg seemed to confirm in her mind that there was no more room for discussing this. They were running out of time.

"It's your choice," she said at last. "Leslie, Louis – grab his shoulders. Hold him down."

Shilo shivered at the older woman's words. She watched in mute horror as Heron place a sheet under his leg, then retreated to the other room to retrieve her kit. She returned moments later, a look of dread on her face. _ This cannot be happening,_ Shilo thought. _It's a dream, a nightmare, it has to be!_

But it was all too clearly real. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest as Heron opened her kit and selected a wickedly sharp blade – _Is that the same kind of blade my father used? -_ and she swore she could almost hear her long – forgotten wristcomm urging her in its impassionate voice to medicate immediately. She almost wished she would faint, because it would save her from having to witness what came next.

As Heron's blade bit into his leg, Graverobber screamed, and it was a sound unlike any she had ever heard before. _Is this what my father's prey sounded like, in their last moments?_ He tried to jerk up off the couch – turned – operating table, but Louis and Leslie held him down firmly.

"Heron, stop," he begged. "I've changed my mind, I don't want this, please stop!"

The surgeon didn't respond.

"Heron!" the graverobber tried again, his plea degenerating into another wordless scream.

Heron did look up this time, at Leslie, who nodded and pressed something to Graverobber's neck. Shilo heard the distinct hiss of a Zydrate gun, and then he went limp. She felt her stomach begin to turn, and knew she couldn't stay in there much longer. She turned and ran out the door, Graverobber's agonized screams still ringing in her ears.


	4. Chapter 4

Payback, Chapter 4

Disclaimer: Not mine as always

Author's notes: Thank you very much for all your kind reviews :). They really do keep me inspired, even if chapters are a long time coming! (I'm a very slow writer, I know, I'm sorry).

Shilo sat on the steps in the narrow stairway that led up to the hideout. The operation, such as it was, had ended over and hour ago, but she couldn't bring herself to go back in. Couldn't make herself face Graverobber, who for so long had been a representation of strength and stability and yes, maybe even immortality, maimed. She couldn't face him looking, for once, _human. _

The door opened.

"Shilo?" Heron.

"Go away." Anger bubbled up inside her. Who was Heron to come out and talk to her? How dare she? This was her fault, that Graverobber was this way. She could have tried harder. There must have been something else she could have done!

"Shilo." Heron sat down on the step above, twisting so she was facing the younger woman. "Feeling better? I thought you were going to faint back there."

"I'm fine."

"You don't look fine."

"How could you just do that to him?" Shilo exploded. "You didn't even try! You just jumped right into cutting his leg off! You said you were never a repoman, but isn't that what they did? Just cut first and ask questions later? _How are you any better than them?_" The last sentence grew in intensity until it was nearly a scream.

Heron looked taken aback, but only for a minute. Truth be told, it wasn't the first time she'd ever been screamed at by someone in pain. She paused, considering her words carefully.

"I'm not going to lie to you," she began. "If we had been at my hospital, there may have been more I could do. But the bone was shattered, Shilo. I don't even know how he was able to walk on it, let alone run. Once a bone is shattered like that, there is very little one can do. Under optimal circumstances, I could operate; put in a titanium replacement and hope for the best. But that's in a sterile environment. I don't have to tell you, of all people, that this place is not sterile in any sense of the word. That leg would have gotten infected by noon tomorrow, if that. The infection would spread so fast, it would be impossible to save him. Better to remove as little as we can get away with; it's just unfortunate in this case that it was the entire leg."

When she put it that way, Shilo had to admit it made sense. But one thing still worried at her. "He said he changed his mind. You heard him say that."

"When they're in that kind of pain, people don't know _what_ they're saying."

"Oh." They fell silent for awhile, until Shilo finally spoke up.

"What's going to happen to him?"

"Well..." Heron said quietly. "I don't know, for sure. He'll get a prosthetic, maybe. He's only lost below the knee; it's entirely possible for him to walk again. But I don't think he'll be able to collect any more."

"Then what will he do?"

"He'll sell, I suppose. If that isn't enough, he'll move on to something else. That's how he is; that's how we all are. You have to be adaptable if you want to survive here.

"One thing is for certain." The physician's dark eyes bored into Shilo. "He's going to need you, now more than ever. He'll never admit it, but he cares for you more than you know. These next few weeks are going to be hard on him. He needs you."

"Me? But I thought you and he were..."

"What? An item? Fucking?" Heron laughed lightly. "No, not at all. He's a very old friend of mine, but just that. A friend." She grew serious again. "Which is why I need you to keep him safe. Can you do that?"

Shilo nodded. "I can."


End file.
